


Nu'vhenan - Heartsick

by drysia



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 13:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drysia/pseuds/drysia
Summary: A collection of short works, ficlets, and drabbles from my tumblr that tell the story of Drysia Lavellan and Cullen Rutherford's relationship in Skyhold during the events of Inquisition.Drysia Lavellan takes solace in practicing her music in the far reaches of Skyhold. Her practice sessions aren't as secret as she thinks they are. Cullen is faced with a question he didn't expect.





	1. Longing

As First of Clan Lavellan it was expected of Drysia to learn to play each of the Dalish instruments. She never cared for the woodwinds or drums, but she could play her lute for hours. She would sit in the fields with the halla, practicing the same song over and over. Occasionally her older brother would sit with her in silence, only offering a gentle word of encouragement at the end of each song.  
  
When they first visited Val Royeaux, Drysia looks for a lute to purchase. All the lutes are different here, but eventually she finds one she wants. The polished wooden body was painted white with a long neck that was almost as tall as Drysia, and it had more strings than she was used to.

_Nothing in the human world is the same,_ she sighs, _Everything is more complicated._  
  
The expensive lute sits unused until they make their way to Skyhold. One night she wonders, _Who brought it during the escape from Haven?_

Homesickness spurs her to learn this blasted five stringed instrument; desperate to lose herself in the ballads and hymns of her kind.  Songs of Evlhenan and yearning for a home you never knew. With no halla fields to hide in, at night she hides away in one of the farthest towers to master the lute.  
  
The Dalish songs feel wrong to Drysia when she plays them;  too quiet, too soft. Hearing them only makes her longing worse, the heartbreak of leaving her clan behind trailing on every note. Foot steps occasionally break her concentration. Drysia pretends she is alone when she plays, choosing to ignore the late night watch making their rounds.  
  
The long march from Haven still heavy on their minds, they too identify with the longing evident in her music. Her nightly practice sessions become an open secret among the Inquisition’s guardsmen. The soldiers respect her privacy as well, feeling honored to be some of the few to hear the Herald’s songs


	2. Who do you love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set the day after the desk scene, Drysia wonders about Cullen's intentions.

Inquisitor Lavellan was half an hour late for the advisor’s meeting in the War Room. Cullen had offered to look for her, pointedly ignoring Leliana’s smirk as he left the room.

He let himself into her private quarters when no one answered his knock.

It was dark. The only light was the angry pulsing of the Anchor and its reflection in her eyes. At first Cullen didn’t know how to read the look in those eyes.

Somehow the room was warm in spite to of the lack of fire. There she was, sitting cross legged on top of her desk.

She tilted her head almost imperceptibly and her eyes narrowed.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention when he recognized that look. It was the same as when she sat on her throne – there was judgment in her eyes.

Suddenly his tongue felt like a heavy dead thing in his mouth.

Cullen squared his shoulders and stood up straighter. Last night had been wonderful. Fulfilling in a way that he’d never felt before.

Surely he hadn’t done anything to deserve that look?

“Last night you said that you loved me. Do you love _me_ or do you love the Herald of Andraste?”

Maker help him.

Years of training kept his voice steady and allowed him to meet her gaze. “They are the same person, are they not?“ A silent prayer - Please don’t let this be the wrong answer.

A bark of laughter was her response. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear and gave him a small smile.

"Inq–” He shook his head and started again, heart still hammering in his chest. “Drysia, I don’t wish – well, I do wish, but –”

She cut him off. “But we’re late for the meeting, I know.”

Cullen tried to read her expression again and failed.

Still unsure of himself and where he stood with her, he offered her his hand. Not that she needed his help, he’d seen her jump from the top of the battlements without a scratch.

He tried to ignore the flush of relief in his cheeks when she took his hand and gingerly stood up. 


	3. Nu'vhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Cullavellan Week 2017, Drysia receives a gift that helps with the heartsickness she's felt since becoming the Inquisitor.

It was late by the time Drysia Lavellan made it to her private quarters. She had returned from her latest excursion to the Hinterlands and only had an hour to bathe and eat before Josephine dragged her to meet with visiting nobles all night.  
  
_Exhausted is good,_ she reminded herself, _maybe I’ll finally get some sleep._  
  
Drysia knew her hope was futile. It was hard to sleep in Skyhold, even with the windows wide open. The brick walls a constant reminder that she wasn’t home.  
  
She had made a habit of hiding in the northern tower, a secluded part of Skyhold, to practice the Orlesian lute she’d purchased in Val Royeux. It gave her something to fill the empty hours of the early morning when she couldn’t sleep.  
  
Home or not, even in the darkness she could tell that there was something on her bed. Drysia made a small motion with her hand and fire bloomed out of nothing in the fireplace, illuminating the room.  
  
She stared at the boxes that sat in the middle of the furs on her bed – two boxes identically wrapped in red paper and tied with white ribbon.  
  
This was odd. Her birthday was months ago and she thought she knew all of the human holidays. The Inquisitor didn’t know why someone would get her a present.  Finally she spotted an envelope that had fallen behind the packages.  
  
Fingers clumsy with excitement, she tore the letter as she pulled it from its envelope.  
  
    Inquisitor–  
    You neglected to inform us of your birthday in advance, so I was unable to produce a suitable gift in a timely fashion.  
  
    Many apologies for the tardiness of the gift. I thought to wait until Satinalia to gift this, but I felt it would be unfair to make you wait.  
  
    It is my hope you enjoy it. But I will not be offended if it is not to your tastes.  
    – C.  
  
Eager to see what sort of present Cullen would give, she quickly grabbed her letter opener and cut the ribbon of the largest package.  
  
Tearing through the paper a whirlwind of thoughts tore through her head. _Why would Cullen care about my birthday? What on Thedas does a man like Cullen get as gifts– a new set of leather boots?_  
  
The paper gave way to a sheaf of paper bundled in the same white ribbon.  
  
Sheet music. Pages upon pages of sheet music. Drysia leafed through the pages and was surprised at the lack of Chantry hymns. These were from composers from all over Thedas, she recognized names from Antiva, Rivain and Orzammar. Each song written for the particular style of Orlesian lute she had.  
  
Cullen must have noticed the lute standing by her desk during their last meeting. Unless…  
  
Drysia’s face went hot. _Of course,_ she thought to herself, _him and every other soldier on the battlements must know that I play._  
  
She shook her head, realizing how naive it was to think that he hadn’t heard her.  
  
The Orlesian lute was a poor subtitle for the lute she’d left with her clan, the Dalish songs never sounded quite right. It was too tall, had too many strings. The songs of the people sounded alien. Some nights it made her homesickness that much worse.  
  
Her stomach tightened, and curiosity began to get the better of Drysia. She carelessly dropped the music and moved onto the second box. Glad there was no one to witness her haste, she tore into the wrapping and tossed the box’s lid onto the ground.  
  
The light spruce of a Dalish style lute gleamed in the firelight. The design of the rosette was intricately carved, bordered by a blue and yellow painted pattern of simplified aravels. She began to examine the instrument more closely; there were some obvious signs of wear that signified that the lute was not brand new, but had at least been taken care of.  
  
Drysia plucked one of the strings, and then another.  A melody took form of a song of she’d heard all her life. For the first time since she’d become Inquisitor she sang along:  
  
_“Lath araval ena_  
_arla ven tu vir mahvir_  
_melana ‘nehn_  
_enasal ir sa lethalin.”_  
  
A smile played across her lips when she was done. Home – it meant something different to the Dalish. Something felt more than someplace concrete.

Her desire to thank him outweighed her body’s desire for sleep. Lute pulled tightly against her chest, Drysia made her way to the northern tower.  
  
She didn’t know where Cullen would be at this hour, but she knew how to call him to her


End file.
